been born there.
I thought Cam and I were pretty imaginative when we had named Abbey. I would never have told my mother-in-law that we had gotten the name from Glastonbury Abbey in Somerset, England. And I certainly would never tell her that her granddaughter had been conceived in the historic George and Pilgrims Hotel in Glastonbury on our sixth wedding anniversary after a shared bottle of French wine. Some things are best kept to oneself.
Shania Twain started singing from my purse and I started digging for my phone, knowing it was Grace. She is a big fan of Shania. I let all my friends pick their own ring tones—that way when I can’t find my phone before the ringing stops, I at least know whose call I missed.
As soon as I said hello, Grace said. “Tamsen, you have got to get over here. I found something, something awful. I need for you to see this. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what it means …” She began sobbing and I couldn’t understand what she was saying. Grace wasn’t much of a crier, so hearing her sob was disturbing. I told her I was on my way. I took a hasty leave of Claudia and Sybil, yanking on my jacket and telling them Grace needed me.
“Who
was
that singing,” Sybil asked Claudia as I let the door shut behind me.
egally it should have taken me twice that long but I made the drive to Grace’s house in ten minutes. Her front door was open and I walked in, calling her name.
“In Ryan’s bedroom,” she yelled back and I ran up two flights of stairs to the attic, where Hugh had made Ryan a private sanctuary away from the rest of the house. I could barely breathe by the time I reached the top. I needed to get more exercise. I was only forty-seven, for heaven’s sake. Grace emerged from Ryan’s bedroom and grabbed my arm, pulling me into the room.
There was a pile of books by the unmade bed, a few car-related magazines scattered on the bureau, several action movie posters haphazardly taped to the walls, and some damp towels draped over the open closet door. I flashed back to my bedroom when I was fifteen and the chaos that had ruled in my mini kingdom; this wasn’t bad at all. While I surveyed the room, Grace moved nervously to the closet door.
“In here,” she whispered, which really freaked me out. I hate the sound of whispering, especially when my nerves are already on edge. She pointed at the floor.
On the closet floor lay a pile of clothes. Grace bent down and gingerly picked up a gray t-shirt that looked like a red pen had exploded all over it. She dangled it in front of my face for a few seconds and then threw it back on the closet floor as if it was burning her fingers.
“It’s blood,” she pronounced.
I flashed back to the image of Franklin, sitting in his chair, staring at me, the blood covering his shirt and puddled on the rug beneath him. “Oh Grace, you can’t possibly be thinking that Ryan …”
“Of course that’s what I’m thinking,” she shrieked. “What else could I be thinking? He’s been acting stranger than ever the last couple of weeks and this t-shirt has been wadded up in the closet until it’s all stiff. How did it get like this? It couldn’t be Ryan’s blood. There’s too much. If he bled this much we would’ve known. He would’ve needed a doctor. Oh God, Tamsen …” Grace collapsed on Ryan’s bed, sobbing into her hands. I bent down and picked up the shirt and looked at it more closely. It did look like dried blood. And it was spattered all over the shirt as if it had spurted out …
“What the hell are you doing in my room?”
I hadn’t seen Ryan for a while and was amazed at how much he had grown in that short time. Suddenly he didn’t seem like the skinny awkward boy I remembered. He was taller and heavier and, right now, with his hands on his hips and his face white with anger, very threatening. I dropped the t-shirt and moved over to Grace.
“What are you two doing in my room?” He turned to Grace. His hatred
I thought Cam and I were pretty imaginative when we had named Abbey. I would never have told my mother-in-law that we had gotten the name from Glastonbury Abbey in Somerset, England. And I certainly would never tell her that her granddaughter had been conceived in the historic George and Pilgrims Hotel in Glastonbury on our sixth wedding anniversary after a shared bottle of French wine. Some things are best kept to oneself.
Shania Twain started singing from my purse and I started digging for my phone, knowing it was Grace. She is a big fan of Shania. I let all my friends pick their own ring tones—that way when I can’t find my phone before the ringing stops, I at least know whose call I missed.
As soon as I said hello, Grace said. “Tamsen, you have got to get over here. I found something, something awful. I need for you to see this. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what it means …” She began sobbing and I couldn’t understand what she was saying. Grace wasn’t much of a crier, so hearing her sob was disturbing. I told her I was on my way. I took a hasty leave of Claudia and Sybil, yanking on my jacket and telling them Grace needed me.
“Who
was
that singing,” Sybil asked Claudia as I let the door shut behind me.
egally it should have taken me twice that long but I made the drive to Grace’s house in ten minutes. Her front door was open and I walked in, calling her name.
“In Ryan’s bedroom,” she yelled back and I ran up two flights of stairs to the attic, where Hugh had made Ryan a private sanctuary away from the rest of the house. I could barely breathe by the time I reached the top. I needed to get more exercise. I was only forty-seven, for heaven’s sake. Grace emerged from Ryan’s bedroom and grabbed my arm, pulling me into the room.
There was a pile of books by the unmade bed, a few car-related magazines scattered on the bureau, several action movie posters haphazardly taped to the walls, and some damp towels draped over the open closet door. I flashed back to my bedroom when I was fifteen and the chaos that had ruled in my mini kingdom; this wasn’t bad at all. While I surveyed the room, Grace moved nervously to the closet door.
“In here,” she whispered, which really freaked me out. I hate the sound of whispering, especially when my nerves are already on edge. She pointed at the floor.
On the closet floor lay a pile of clothes. Grace bent down and gingerly picked up a gray t-shirt that looked like a red pen had exploded all over it. She dangled it in front of my face for a few seconds and then threw it back on the closet floor as if it was burning her fingers.
“It’s blood,” she pronounced.
I flashed back to the image of Franklin, sitting in his chair, staring at me, the blood covering his shirt and puddled on the rug beneath him. “Oh Grace, you can’t possibly be thinking that Ryan …”
“Of course that’s what I’m thinking,” she shrieked. “What else could I be thinking? He’s been acting stranger than ever the last couple of weeks and this t-shirt has been wadded up in the closet until it’s all stiff. How did it get like this? It couldn’t be Ryan’s blood. There’s too much. If he bled this much we would’ve known. He would’ve needed a doctor. Oh God, Tamsen …” Grace collapsed on Ryan’s bed, sobbing into her hands. I bent down and picked up the shirt and looked at it more closely. It did look like dried blood. And it was spattered all over the shirt as if it had spurted out …
“What the hell are you doing in my room?”
I hadn’t seen Ryan for a while and was amazed at how much he had grown in that short time. Suddenly he didn’t seem like the skinny awkward boy I remembered. He was taller and heavier and, right now, with his hands on his hips and his face white with anger, very threatening. I dropped the t-shirt and moved over to Grace.
“What are you two doing in my room?” He turned to Grace. His hatred
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